I walked away slowly, and made a point of emerging from the alley between the booths much farther up. I stopped for a minute to admire Ma Li’s collection of stained-glass candle holders, and then stopped again to buy some rainbow chard and strawberries from the Stillkeys’ vegetable stand for my dinner. I walked as slowly as possible, because I knew if I went back to my stall and spotted Constantine again, I’d have to think about the conversation I’d overheard.
And if I thought about the conversation, I’d remember the way he’d sounded.
And if I remembered the way he’d sounded, the flash ofrecognitionI’d felt would spark into something dangerously like…sympathy.
And if I allowed myself to feel sympathy for Con, then I'd start to remember the other things I'd noticed. Like the way he'd stood up for that little boy. And the way he looked when he smiled. And that fucking bubble ass.
And if I remembered all that, the insanely stupid idea that had popped into my head back there would become a reality.
And I’d never be rid of him.
Chapter Three
Constantine
“Hit me again, barkeep.”
Jordan, who’d been tending bar at The Hive nearly as long as I’d been coming here—which was to say, for a lot longer than was strictly legal—snorted as she refilled my drink.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you depressed before, Connie,” she said, twitching back her long fall of sleekly-curled red hair with one brightly tattooed arm. I thought, just like I’d thought for years, that Jordan looked like a pinup girl who’d time-traveled to the future and decided she liked it here. “It’s adorable. You’re like a bewildered little kitten.”
“Just what every man dreams of having a beautiful woman compare him to. Akitten.”
One perfectly-arched eyebrow lifted and Jordan’s eyes widened. “Ruh roh. This is more serious than I thought.” She leaned her elbows on the shining wood countertop and ignored the other customers vying for her attention. “Did some boy dare to reject you? Or was it a girl, you bisexual beast, you? Tell Jordan all about it, precious, and we’ll come up with a plan. I’ll hold your earrings.”
I sighed despondently. “My sex life is the least of my concerns.”
“Well, at least there’s that, then, right? Cute girl at ten o’clock looks like she might have an eye for you.”
I slumped against the bar and didn’t bother to look. “Not in the mood.”
“Whoa. That’s like hearing the Pillsbury Doughboy isn’t in the mood for cookies.”
I smiled wanly, because I knew she expected it.
“What’s up, honey?”
“Eh. Just realizing that my life is pretty much fucked.”
I’d gotten a call from Joe Cross earlier. A call in which he’d told me, in the same hushed tones that a doctor emerging from the operating room might use to deliver bad news to a waiting family, “It’s the transmission, Connie. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.” I swear, I’d heard the high-pitched squeal of a heart monitor flat-lining, except the patient was my bank account, and there was no hope of resuscitation.
But worse than knowingmyfinances were DOA was knowing that my mother’s finances—Ross Landscaping’s finances—were just as fucked. Thanks to me.
Everyone in town knew the story of Con-the-dumbass and his final, terrible teenage prank. Over the years, the outrage had kind of worn off, and most people remembered the audacity of it, the stupidity of it. They laughed over it, like Joe Cross had. Not a lot of people in town—hell, not a lot of peoplein my own family—knew that the real tragedy had occurred long after Trent Gaynor’s car had been towed away and turned to scrap metal. My mother had paid them off somehow and had fought tooth and claw to keep the business running. She hadn’t wanted to burden my brothers—or my aunt and cousin—with it, but she couldn’t help burdening me.
Which was fair, since it should have been my burden.
“It can’t bethatbad,” Jordan said, tilting her head. “You’re young, you’re healthy, you’re hot.”
I mustered a smile. “Well, I mean,that’strue,” I said, and I smiled when she laughed. Deliberately playing it easy, I told her, “But I was late to the market today and my mother ripped me a new one in front of the guy who’s basically mynemesis.”
“Aww,” she said. “And that’s what’s got you down?”
“It was humiliating.”
It kind of had been. Micah Bloom, quoting my own stupid lines back at me like the superior know-it-all he was, rocking on the balls of his feet the whole time and smiling that little smile that made me want to…ugh. That had been the bright-red cherry on the shit sundae of this day. I shouldn’t have provoked him, but God, he was a tempting target, all smug and reserved and buttoned up and gorgeous and—
Oh, Lord no.All I needed was to have my fucked-up mind twist Micah Bloom into someone attractive or desirable. The very idea made me shudder.
